"Sometimes they're tripped up," replied Haggerty. "A case like this is
due t' slip through. I'll take a look."

Thomas heard no more. A detective. Unobserved, he went down to his
stuffy cabin, took off the chamois bag and locked it in his trunk. So
long as it remained on board, it was in British territory.

The following day he went into the great city of man-made cliffs. He
walked miles and miles. Naturally he sought the haberdashers along
Broadway. No employment was offered him: for the reason that he failed
to state his accomplishments. But he was in nowise discouraged. He
would go back to Liverpool. The ship would sail with full cabin
strength, and this trip there would be tips, three sovereigns at least,
and maybe more, if his charges happened to be generous.

He tied the chamois bag round his neck again, and turned in. He was
terribly tired and footsore. He slept fitfully. At half after nine he
sat up, fully awake. His cabin-mate (whom he rather disliked) was not
in his bunk. Indeed, the bunk had not been touched. Suddenly Thomas'
hand flew to his breast. The chamois bag was gone!




CHAPTER IV

Iambic and hexameter, farewell! In that moment the poet died in
Thomas; I mean, the poet who had to dig his expressions of life out of
ink-pots. Things boil up quickly and unexpectedly in the soul;